sharing different heartbeats
by miserella
Summary: Drabbles featuring Gale and Madge in different capacities. Cross-posted from Tumblr.
1. snares (affair)

**AN: **This was from a Gadge Week prompt based on "sneaking" and "snares". I'm finally posting it here, along with some other drabbles, after originally publishing them on Tumblr. I had warned that the following revolves around an extramarital affair which may be a sensitive subject for some. I definitely don't endorse such activity but I wanted to write something different. Hopefully you can still enjoy!

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For as many snares he set in his youth, Gale never imagined he'd find himself in one. Physically, he was as free as the birds he watched fly above him, but he felt as trapped as the creatures he caught in his devices. Those snares, however, were quite different than the one in which he found himself tangled.

He didn't think it would ever come to this. When he first kissed her there was hope; when he proposed there was promise; and when he took her home after the toasting there was security. She was supposed to make things right as his new wife, the newest Mrs. Hawthorne after his own mother. After six months, hope turned into doubt, promise turned into uncertainty, and security turned into caged melancholy.

It's his fault, he knows. Lily Larkspur was as innocent as she always seemed to be; it was when she became a Hawthorne that he started to prove just how fucked up and sinful he could be in comparison.

But he blames _her_, too.

"You're late," Madge tells him now, with none of the anger he could expect out of the statement. She's sprawled on her side on the stiff mattress he shoved into the shack he came across a few years ago in the forest and he knows he woke her when he stepped in moments before. The greyish light of dawn illuminates half her drowsy face and her hair shines even under the dying moonlight.

"Did you think I'd forgotten about you?" he mumbles in the dreary silence over the rustling noise of removing his coat. He unties his boots next, sitting in the chair across from her, glancing up every so often to appreciate her presence stretched out in front of him. When he's done, he moves towards her. "You know I can't."

And that's his problem, isn't it? If he could just forget her…

"Come here," she says, muffled by the arm she leans on, peering up at him. He sits beside her on the makeshift bed and she rolls over to make room. He still has to squeeze in beside her, but that just means he gets to pull her half on top of him when he gets situated. She curls into him and he wraps himself around her and they no longer feel the cold of the early morning. "Did you make it out okay?"

It's her way of asking if his wife seemed suspicious at all. He makes a noncommittal noise as always because this isn't something they actually talk about. The truth is he was late because Lily wanted him to stay in bed, to skip hunting this morning. He told her they'll need it if they want to get through the week. Maybe they won't, but _he_ will.

"I'm here, aren't I?"

She blinks at him and he can tell she's acknowledging the fact that he is here, holding her close—but only for now. And she could say it, and he could tell her all the reasons why there's nothing he can do, but they know all of that. They know that this is just one of their stolen moments, their time away from his wife and her loneliness. Until they can sneak away again, this is all they have, so why waste it on conversation?

He leans down to kiss her and she meets him at his touch; it evolves quickly from there until her back is pressed into the mattress and she claws at his scarred back. The pain reminds him of the morphling that saved his life after he got caught for poaching—before Lily, before any of this—when they were just two kids that watched each other from afar (and that reminds him of the past and missed opportunities, the thoughts that plague his happiness). So he grips her harder and leaves bruises on her pale hips, hoping she'll feel the same way he does.

Afterwards he drops gentle kisses to the purple marks he gave her and whispers apologies. He hands her one of the strawberries he never fails to bring and lets them sweeten her swollen lips. Then he makes it up to her in other ways, sweet and slow as if time itself could stop.

It doesn't, and eventually he has to pull his coat on again and watch her lace up his boots before he heads back into the cold. He still has to pick up the game from his snares and they both have to get back before the district starts to wake. He pulls at the pocket watch hidden in his jacket (his father's father's, once upon a time) and finds it's later than he wants it to be, meaning they really need to get a move on. Normally he'll walk her to the fence before looping back for the snares, but today he asks if they can get his game on the way to the district. They're running on borrowed time as it is and he should get back.

When she agrees, they get moving, sharing the strawberries between them. He asks her about her week and she tells him everything; she asks the same and he tells her what he can. She knows he leaves things out and he can tell she hates it. She's always hated being kept in the dark—and he hates that he has to do it to her.

But it's like the divide between his side of town and hers: these two lives are separate, or he tries to make it that way.

"This isn't right, Gale," she says, and it wouldn't shock him if he hadn't been expecting it. He doesn't say anything in return, just collects his game from the first snare they come across.

When her silence drags on, he finally replies in a low voice, "Then let's stop. Is that what you want?"

She squirms under the weight of his words while he moves on to the next snare. Before he gets on his knees he looks at her. She shakes her head. "That's not what I _want_."

Gale sighs. "Then what do you want, Madge?"

"I want to stop hurting people every time you see me and I want to stop being hurt every time you leave," she closes her eyes, tightening her hold on the basket of berries. "I don't think that's too much to ask."

"Well, it is," he tells her. It's not a harsh reply, only an honest one.

She looks defeated. "Then I want more options."

"Can't do anything about that, either." He stops at the third snare and faces her. Gale has the urge to kiss away the crease between her eyebrows, but he doesn't. "I can't give you up, Madge. Not again."

Madge steps away from him out of weariness and shrugs. "How long do you expect this to last? Hm? I'm just supposed to sneak into the forest once a week until—God knows what could happen to make this _okay_. I don't want to lose you either and I would do anything for you, Gale, but I can't live like this forever. Neither can you."

"Then what do you want me to say?" he snaps. He _blames_ her; God, he blames her and he blames himself. "I feel trapped, too, Madge."

She looks away from him then and zones out on the mossy bark of a tree trunk. The air feels heavy and he doesn't know what else to say anymore. He's too worried about the next few moments and what will come out of them to busy himself with his snares, even, and all he can do is wait for Madge to fill the void.

"I'm going to walk myself back," is all she says, turning around to head in the direction of the fence.

"Madge," he calls for her to stop. "What are you thinking?" He needs to know.

She lifts a shoulder. "I don't know." She keeps walking, and he waits until her yellow hair goes out of view until he turns back to his snares. He wonders if that will be the last time he sees her out here in the woods but the thought just serves to flare his anger and he gets through with his snares faster than usual.

When he comes across one with a squirrel hanging on to his life by a thread, he lets him go. He's still stuck, but at least he can set something free.


	2. hospital

**AN: **This came out of an ask prompt from anonymous that asked for something based on Madge visiting Gale at the hospital. Like the others, it was originally posted on Tumblr. Hope you enjoy!

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Anxiety pools in her belly, manifesting itself in the sweat of her palms and the thudding of her heart. Madge passes through the hospital doors with her head down; she hopes to slip by unnoticed to avoid the uncomfortable fibbing she would have to do in order to get where she needs to be. Not that she wouldn't do it. She has all the information she needs—"he's in 4C, just this dreadful cupboard of a space," his mother had mentioned in their last conversation, and Madge had not missed the gleaming twinkle in her eye—and her only job now is to be her unassuming, overlooked self.

She has become a master at sneaking (all those years of snooping through her father's office, listening intently and silently at the air vents, all parts of a past now in ruin—they've come in handy) and so it is with no great difficulty that she breezes past the hectic waiting area filled with pale-faced, hacking, sneezing, or swooning occupants. The halls are no stranger to her, as it was not long ago that she herself was hospitalized after she'd been found trembling in the forest near 13 some time after the bombings.

When her eyes land on room 4C, she gathers herself and makes a bee-line for the door. Her breath catches in her throat as she enters and finds Gale in his bed—wide awake and sullen. She freezes in her place and wonders, foolishly, f she can turn around and exit as easily as she came. The answer is a hard no when his gaze falls on her and she closes the door behind her as she realizes that there is no way out of this now.

"Madge?" he rasps through a dry throat, his arms crossed over his hospital gown. For once he isn't calling her by her last name, but she's stuck on the sight of him—bruised and scraped and utterly exhausted. Gale Hawthorne looks weak for the first time ever and it may have been something she would use to her advantage in the past—but not now.

(Not after he collapsed from fatigue and stress and anxiety when he arrived back in 13 after the Battle of the Capitol; not after the trauma of coming home—if 13 can be called home—to the people he once saved from fiery deaths thinking that he killed their children without mercy. Things aren't the same as they were in 12. Neither are they.)

"They told me you'd—" he furrows his brow and his shoulders just slightly relax. "I thought for sure…"

"I got out," Madge counters, shrugging. "I'm okay." As okay as she can be, anyway.

"So am I," he grunts after a moment of blinking at her. Gale then looks away from her, shrinking under her presence. It's the strangest thing. "I don't need to be in here."

Madge takes a seat at the end of his hospital bed, barely resting there. His appearance certainly says otherwise, and she knows that he probably feels much worse than he looks. "They think you do," she responds. At his eye roll, she gives him a pointed look. "They want to take care of you, Gale. Let them."

He doesn't say much else but Madge can't bring herself to leave. He doesn't even look at her, preferring to stare at a beeping monitor at his side. She doesn't find it as interesting, but there isn't _anything_ interesting about the room he's in. As his mother had mentioned, it's small and cramped; like the rest of 13, there are no windows and the walls are a severe white. There is nothing comforting about the space and it looks as pitiful as he does.

She leaves, eventually, and comes back later with a little potted pine tree she finds in the marketplace (it's a little harder to get by the desk with it in her hands, but she manages). Gale humphs at her return but eyes the plant warily.

"Remind you of 12?" she asks carefully and places her tree on a table across the room from him. His jaw is clenched tight when she glances back at him and he looks away painfully. "They say a little green helps cheer up hospital patients. If there's anyone who could use some cheering up, I'd say it's you." Madge offers him a teasing smile, but he doesn't bite; his expression remains stony as ever.

The next day she brings a handful of wildflowers in the same yellows and whites she remembers from the meadow in 12. He scowls at their place by the pine, but she comes back the day after with some tea in a styrofoam cup from the cafeteria—"the kind we brewed in 12," she explains.

"Stop doing this, Madge," he seems to beg and his voice sounds as tortured as she believes he is. "You're not helping."

His tea sits untouched and she watches the steam rise off it. "How can I help then?" Her words are mumbled lowly, nervously.

"I don't know—don't you have a family to comfort?" He tenses and looks to her suddenly. Madge suspects the shaking of his head that follows is directed at himself. "Madge, I…"

"Only yours," she answers, lifting a shoulder, "And they're very worried about you. If you hate it in here so much, get yourself out. If not for you, do it for them. They need you, Gale. They need you to be okay."

She lets that sink in before she crosses the room in two steps and reaches for the door handle. From behind her, Gale says, "I don't know if I'll ever be okay again."

Madge faces him once more. "I'm doing it, and you never used to think I could do anything."

His eyes narrow at her, perhaps out of annoyance. But there's a little colour in his cheeks, a little more of that Hawthorne spirit in his eyes. Over the next few weeks, his bruises turn green and his cuts start shaping into scars. The doctors say his health is stable enough to go home, but he has to see a psychiatrist once a week. He isn't pleased about that. Madge knows because he starts to tell her things when she visits. Like the day before he's released, he says, "I'm going to 2. I'm not staying here."

"Okay," she nods unsurely, because it might be what's best for him, but it makes her stomach drop inexplicably.

"Thanks, you know," he mutters, coming off as casual as he can. Some things never change. "Maybe you _can_ do anything. You proved me wrong," he smirks lightly and she nods, agreeing, with a laugh. He continues, "And you sort of saved me. Twice, with the morphling. Then, you saved yourself after 12 and you helped my family. You… That's a lot of doing."

She tries to keep herself from blushing somehow, but she's still not used to being semi-complimented by him. So she laughs, the sound bubbling up her throat a little frantically. "Anything else I can do?" she jokes. He stands up from the sitting on the side of his hospital bed, clad now in a plain T-shirt and pair of loose-fitting grey trousers that the people of 13 call 'sweatpants.' They didn't have the soft material in 12 and Gale has taken to them quite fondly for lounging around his hospital room.

Madge has taken to them, too.

"You could come with me to 2," he answers her and it appears to be a serious comment. Her eyebrows rise on her forehead and she bites her lip to keep from sputtering incoherently at his proposal. His face flashes with vulnerability before he grins at her. "Who knows when I'll need more saving."

Madge chuckles and playfully rolls her eyes at him. Her hand reaches out to slip inside his, curling her fingers around his large palm. His hand, in turn, squeezes hers and tugs her just a tad closer. "That's what hospitals are for," is what she says in response, but the important thing is that she's not saying 'no.'

His psychologist (and hers) tells him that he has to accept that things will never be quite the same in order to move on. It's a hard concept to grasp, as everything was taken from them—their home, their family, their best friends—so suddenly. But Madge believes in the silver lining. Out of the rebellion, they have freedom, and today there's nothing holding them back.


	3. bookstore

**AN: **This was another ask prompt from the dear dauntless-nephilim-on-fire over on Tumblr for Gale and Madge meeting in a bookstore to get out of the rain (or something like that). I went with it, and though it probably took me 1000 years to finally finish-school and work are kickiny my butt-this was the final product. Hope you like!

They say April showers bring May flowers, but Gale has never really cared for that. He's not much of a flower-lover, or flower-anything (though he always appreciated the sight of the meadow back home in full bloom); all he knows is he hates the feeling of being soaked to the bone and squishing through puddles in his boots while wiping the heavy raindrops out of his eyes. Growing up beneath the poverty line, he had the choice of an old, sort-of-warm coat or none at all—a raincoat was out of the question—and the rain used to impede his vision when he was out hunting and make survival that much harder that week. Suffice to say, he's not a fan.

So when it starts to come down on him pretty hard while he's out in the city one day, it's instinct for him to duck into the nearest building and wait in hopes that it will clear up shortly. The first thing he does is nod towards the young girl at the cash register before shaking out his coat (he can afford one now, but that doesn't mean he wants to be out in this weather) and taking in his surroundings. Cursing his luck, he wonders what he can do with himself in a bookstore. Much like the rain, books have never really been his thing.

And this bookstore doesn't appear to be new or part of a chain; in fact, it even smells old and looks like a page right out of one of the books in its shelves. Or on the floor, seeing as there's not even enough room in the cramped little space to house enough shelving for the books it sells and more of the same cloth-bound literature is strewn across the floor in piles. If he were actually shopping, he wouldn't know where to start. As it is Gale is a little lost and all of his carefulness in attempting to navigate the aisles fails when he accidentally kicks the corner of a pile and sends books crashing. An older man sorting some very old, very thick pieces of work off to the side pulls his glasses even further down his nose and gives him a horrified look. In turn, Gale responds with a reassuring smile and starts to gather the fallen back in to some semblance of order. Looks like he'll have to buy something after all.

In the process of rearranging what he knocked over, he spots a title that actually piques his interest. In small embossed lettering, the cover reads, "A History of American Revolution". It looks fairly new compared to the rest of the books and the shininess of its hardcover draws him in. In reaching for it, his hand clasps onto something other than his intended target—another more feminine hand doing the same. The warmth and surprise of it all ignites his fingers with an electric thrill and he pulls his hand back quickly, watching as the woman next to him does the same.

"Oh," she gasps, her hand hanging in the air. Her fair-coloured cheeks turn pink and her blue eyes rise to his. There's something about her that tells him she shouldn't be the type to go reaching for historical books on revolution; Gale blames it on her wide doe eyes and pretty blonde hair that curls around the shoulders of her cream-coloured dress. She reminds him of the girls back home who lived in the nice part of town, who stuck their noses up at his people across the city living in squalor. But there's also something that tells him she's different.

"Sorry 'bout that," he mutters gruffly, peeling his eyes off of her. "All yours." He'll just have to find another book to pretend to be interested in.

"No, you can go ahead," she counters with a wave of her hand. "I'm not sure it's something I should be looking at, anyway." She grabs the book and hands it to him. He can't help but look at her curiously—what did she mean by that?—but she looks quite content to let him have it. "Enjoy," she says, not bothered by his staring, either.

She turns away and makes her way through the aisles of books again. Gale begins to flip through the book, catching on words like "incendiary" and "war" and "rights", and his interest in the topic grows as he discovers a past that had only been mentioned to him in hushed tones before. As he skims through the book, the same girl who'd reached for it at the same time as him becomes a source of intrigue, as well. He comes to the back cover just as the rain is starting to let up and when he pulls himself from his own mind filled now with questions upon questions, he scans the room for her. The stranger is flipping thoughtfully through a book of her own but it doesn't stop him from stepping up to her and offering "A History of American Revolution" back to her. She takes it wordlessly, mostly confused by his gesture.

"What did you think?" she finally says, when he doesn't offer up anymore.

Gale's brow furrows as he tries to configure his thoughts into words. He comes up with nothing and makes a noncommittal sound in response. "It was… interesting."

The blonde nods enthusiastically. "Oh, yes. Very."

"You know a lot about this stuff?" he asks.

"Well… Yes," she shrugs, blushing modestly. "Enough, I suppose."

"Enough?" he questions, confused by her meaning.

The woman glances around her carefully before sighing and admitting in a whisper, "To want more."

Gale's eyes light up as he comes to an understanding—she wants the same things as him. For her to even admit so much to a stranger like him is shocking and a little bit infuriating (he could be anyone; she must know the things they do to people like them), but it's sort of impressive. Not that he's going to say so. Anyway, he's a bit distracted by the same fire he sees behind her eyes that he feels within him (and, secretly, by the blue pop of her irises).

He leans closer still, lowering his voice as she did. "Who are you?"

"Madge. You can call me Madge." Her cheeks have turned rosy again and she takes a big breath.

"Gale," he offers in return, "And I want you to tell me everything you know."

Later, he'll leave the bookstore with Madge's number on a slip of paper between his fingers and watch from the corner of his eye as she exits after him and heads the opposite way. The sky will be dry but the sidewalks will be wet and he'll wonder a little bit about fate.


	4. confused (roommates)

**AN: **I'm trying to complete a table of 100 prompts-which can be found on my tumblr, linked in my profile-and this is the first one. The prompt was "confused". I killed two birds with one stone and also used this little drabble for the January Gadge prompt of "roommates" that was going on over on Tumblr. Let me know what you think!

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"I just… I don't get it." Madge's voice pleads for him to explain; her brows furrow inward and she chews on one of her pretty pink fingertips.

Gale's hand scratches at the back of his neck—a nervous tic—and musses the overgrown hair at his nape. He needs a haircut, but he likes the way Madge plays her fingers through his hair when it's just that little bit longer. "What is there to get?" He grunts his response because this is really not how he imagined things would go. She's confused and now so is he. There was supposed to be some romantic admission, Madge would fall into his arms, and they'd jump into his dad's old Firebird and drive off into the sunset. Or some shit like that.

Instead he gets Madge pacing around their shared living room to put more and more space between them and, "Gale, you weren't supposed to fall in love with me."

From where she stands on the other side of the couch, she looks like she's lost her mind trying to figure him out. Her hair is falling out of its pony and the baseball shirt (his) she's wearing nearly swallows her whole. The ensemble is how Sunday mornings look to him. During the week she's always quick to get herself dressed and ready for work, but on Sundays she likes to lounge around and be lazy. It's one of the many things he's learned about her in the last year that they've lived together. The stolen baseball shirts are a little more new.

He doesn't mind. They look better on her than him. Well, they look better on the floor, but…

She's a little preoccupied.

"Why not?" He doesn't understand. When she had nowhere else to go and he needed a roommate, the situation was purely convenient, sure. And when they started to save the episodes on their PVR for Friday nights when they could watch them all of them together, she'd seemed pleased with their newfound friendship. And then she wasn't so pleased when she met that girl he was seeing at the bar, because he'd given the guy she'd cooked for at their apartment hell when he came home early that evening. She seemed to understand it—like it, even—when they added kisses to the mix. Later it only made sense to her that she should stay with him in his bed at night (and her bed would remain empty for many more). There was no questioning any of that, so why is this where she draws the line?

She sputters. "Because!" is her answer. It's a poor one.

"Not good enough." Gale takes steps around the couch towards her and Madge seems to freeze in her spot. Her eyes are wide as she peers up at him but he's just glad she isn't still trying to run away. "Try again," he prompts her as he draws her closer and fiddles with the neckline of his shirt that gapes around her collarbone.

She still doesn't move away, which he appreciates. He can't help but be near her, even if she's about to reject him; she smells like vanilla and the coffee she was drinking earlier as she watched some show about home decorating and he scrambled eggs in the kitchen. Those eggs are sitting half-eaten and cold now and, honestly, he's still hungry. Maybe he shouldn't have sprung that he's in love with her in the middle of breakfast.

"Because, Gale," she says again, "We're roommates. And you used to hate me! You only ever used to call me by my last name and you treated me like the dirt beneath your feet." Madge gives him a pointed look to which he wants to roll his eyes.

He doesn't, but he does say, "Obviously we've moved past all that." She stills completely and looks at the floor, so Gale drops his hand from where it was tracing her skin along the shirt's neckline and narrows his eyes at her. "Haven't we? Does this really surprise you, Madge?"

When she doesn't reply, he does as she wanted before and puts space between them, dejectedly finding his way back to the table where not twenty minutes ago he watched her put ketchup on her eggs as he blurted something along the lines of "So, I'm in love with you," like it was something he heard on the news and hadn't been waiting three weeks to say it.

"Yes, it does surprise me," Madge calls to his back, sounding exasperated. She patters over to where he stands and sighs. "I've been waiting to hear that for so long that I told myself I never would… And then for you to announce it over breakfast like it's nothing…" She chuckles lightly and her hands come up to run along the broad muscles of his shoulders. "You're screwing with my head, Gale Hawthorne."

Her fingers slide into the hair at the back of his neck and Gale knows to pull her closer when she does. He holds back on a suggestion that he screws with other parts of her and smirks instead. She has no idea how often he wonders about his sanity because of how she makes him feel. "Am I?"

Madge nods and his arms wrap around her waist. "Little bit," she adds, then shrugs nonchalantly, "But I guess I'm in love with you, too."

When his lips press into hers, neither of them are confused about what comes next.


	5. restaurant (promises)

**AN: **This is absolutely the sappiest thing I have ever written and oh, God, don't judge me. Just try to accept the romance. It was for the Gadge month prompt on tumblr of "promises" and I also used it to fill #51 "restaurant" on my prompt table.

* * *

"You promised, Gale," Madge sighs. Her voice comes through the line sounding exasperated and disappointed and he wishes he was there to comfort her better than his word by phone. But if he were there, she wouldn't be feeling this way in the first place. "You promised you'd be back early…"

"I did," he confirms.

"…And that we'd get there on time."

"Right," he shifts in his seat, feeling entirely too restless and uncomfortable in the cheap office chair.

"But you're not even here yet and we're already late for the reservation. Again."

The worst part is that she doesn't even sound angry—just like he's let her down for the thousandth time. He thinks of her sitting in their hotel room all ready to go, looking absolutely immaculate and watching the time tick down on the clock as her excitement ebbed away into realization that her boyfriend was going to stand her up once more. It's not a common thing, but admittedly he's had to cancel a couple dates when she's joined him out of town on his business trips. It's just that he gets hung up meeting with the officials of the other districts and while of course he doesn't like it—if he has to miss out on spending time with her, he'd much rather be in the field—it has to be done. Now that the old Capitol has fallen and the safety of Panem has been mostly secured, the economy needs to stabilize, the areas of destruction need to be rebuilt, and populations need to be reintegrated. Gale works in reconstruction and he loves what he does, but not when it means he's upsetting Madge.

"Madge, you know this is my job," he whispers. He's sitting at his temporary desk and doesn't want to draw attention to himself. The details of his relationship are personal; he doesn't need the entire mayoral office of District 4 thinking he's having relationship problems. (He isn't.) "You know how important it is."

She really does—she works in reintegration. It's silent on her end of the line for a moment before she accepts that he's right. "It's just that we never see each other enough anyway…"

"I know." Gale closes his eyes and tries not to hate his job for taking him away from her. But her job needs her just as much and they've both put work first. It's for the good of the country, they tell themselves, and even though they know it's true, the good of the country is really time-consuming. When he takes a deep breath and opens his eyes again, he sees a young man approaching his desk and Gale nods at him. "Madge, I've got to go, but I'm nearly done here. I'll take you out when I'm back, all right? I promise."

She chuckles bitterly. "Don't jinx it, Hawthorne," she says.

"M'not. I'll be there. Okay? I love you." He hangs up promptly and turns to the man waiting for him. "I'm just finishing up that report for you now, Barry. I'll e-mail it over."

Barry shakes his head at Gale and leans on the side of his desk, watching him peculiarly. "I don't get you, Hawthorne. You know you didn't have to do it for me. I would have gotten to it."

Sure, he would have. But Barry always manages to mess them up somehow and they have to be re-done anyways. Beside Gale needed something to do to pass the time. He couldn't have Madge thinking he'd kept his promise now, could he?

"Yeah, well, merry Christmas, happy birthday, whatever," Gale shrugs and puts the finishing touches on the document. Maybe Barry would have to clean it up a little. He's still trying to learn the ins and outs of computers. "Alright, I'm sending it to you and then I'm going." He attaches it to the e-mail and types Barry's address in before pressing send. While it loads he stands up from his chair and throws the jacket of his suit back on—4 is much warmer than 12 ever was—and makes sure he has everything.

"So you're off to meet with the lady, huh, sir?" Barry smirks. "Hope she won't be too pissed with me for keeping you late."

Gale double-checks that the report has sent and then he logs off. Barry doesn't have anything to worry about. It's Gale that might have some trouble. But if all goes according to plan, she won't be pissed at all. "You were doing me a favour," he replies. Barry gives him a confused look but he doesn't take the time to explain, instead bidding him goodbye and taking off. At least if it all goes to shit he can blame everything on Barry.

On the way back to the hotel Gale picks up flowers since he's allowed enough time in the schedule to do so without actually being late. They might be necessary to take the edge off Madge's dissatisfaction with his tardiness. So he grips the small bouquet in his hands as he knocks on their room door and waits for her to answer. He has a room key, but it seems more appropriate now to warn her of his arrival. Besides, she might appreciate the gesture; it feels a bit more like an actual date this way.

When she opens the door, she looks entirely unimpressed and unhappy with him—as she should be. He's been an ass. But now he wants to make it up. He tries to greet her in some pleasant and respectful way but he's blown away by her beauty, as he often is. Her fair skin is lightly tanned from time in the District 4 sun and it looks golden against the ocean blue of her dress. He's never seen this one before and he can guess she's picked it up in one of the shops here. Her blonde hair is sun-kissed like the rest of her and pinned up prettily, exposing her smooth, freckled shoulders. She smells like something sweet and he wishes he'd planned better so that he was in her good graces and that he could possibly talk her into staying in instead. (He'd never have a chance.)

"You look incredible," he tells her, offering her his handful of sunflowers. Her face is in stark contrast to their cheeriness. Madge has never looked so sullen and he hopes he can save their night. "I'm sorry," he says first. It's a good start.

"I know you are," Madge sighs, "And thank you. They're beautiful." She stands there twirling the flowers in her fingers and he nudges her gently.

"Go put them in water and then we can go," he suggests. They _are_ on a strict schedule, even if she doesn't know it.

Her feet shift uncomfortably on the soft carpet and she seems to hesitate. When he's about to question it, she says, "It's already late, Gale. We missed our reservation… Maybe we should just call it a night."

"Don't be silly, Madge." He furrows his brow at her. She can't call it a night now. He takes the flowers from her again and walks past her, grabbing the provided ice bucket and filling it with water from the bathroom sink. "Go put your heels on—the silver ones." Gale certainly doesn't care what footwear she chooses but he knows she likes to wear those ones in particular for more formal functions because they're pretty *and* comfortable. When she heads over to the closet to grab them, he adds the flowers to the water and puts them by the window. Madge returns with the strappy shoes hanging off her finger and she takes her sweet time in sitting down on the edge of the bed to put them on. He can tell she's not as excited as she was this morning and the days previous, obviously not trusting that they'll get very far by showing up late to a reservation at one of the most popular new restaurants in 4.

"Do you need me to put them on for you, princess?" he teases. The term has become one of endearment over their time together and he means no harm by it. Madge plays into it, rolling her shoulders back and turning her nose up into the air. She sticks one of her feet out like she's waiting and he chuckles at his sassy girl. The things he'll do for her… Gale lowers down to his knees in front of her and slides her feet into the heels delicately one-by-one. Then he fumbles with the tiny ankle strap and buckle on each one, eyeing the sharp heel on the shoes warily. They could injure a man and he's not in the best position. But Madge doesn't appear to want to kill him just yet. When he's done, he deftly drags the tips of his fingers along her calves and stops in the sensitive area behind her knees. They have to go, but he can take a moment to apologize again. "I missed you today," he tells her honestly. "I'm sorry I'm late, but I want to make it up to you."

Madge blinks at him with her big blue eyes until she grabs hold of his collar and pulls him up to her height so that she can kiss him softly. It's her forgiveness, but he can tell that she's still not convinced he can fix the night. He intends to prove her wrong, but only if she stops tempting him from laying her down on the mattress and showering her with many more kisses. They should have time for that later, he tells himself, pulling away. After that she's happy to let him lead her out the door, even though she seems to trail behind him due to her lack of exuberance over the whole thing.

When they arrive at the restaurant, Gale starts to get nervous. Now he has to make sure they're going to do their part, too. He walks up to the maitre d', Madge's hand in his, and begins what might be his only shot at an acting career. "We had a reservation tonight—it was under Hawthorne."

The man gives him a snooty look and checks his book. When he finds the name, he looks utterly appalled. "The Hawthorne reservation was for _six p.m._, sir. It is now after eight, you realize." He has one of the funny Capitol accents that Gale always found pretentious and annoying. He nods at the man, knowing exactly how late they are.

"Yes, but I booked that reservation well in advance and it's not my girlfriend's fault that I got hung up," he explains. "She's been wanting to eat here forever and we're just in town for the weekend. Isn't there anything you can do?"

The maitre d' shakes his head, looking like a bobble head, and Gale tightens his grip on Madge's hand. "No, no, no," he says. "That's not how it works here. Come back again. Thank you."

Gale turns to Madge and watches her deflate. It's probably worse now that she's been in the restaurant and can see everyone else enjoying their fine cuisine. It's not his style at all, but now and again he feels the need to impress his merchant girlfriend—even if she's never really asked to be.

She tugs on his hand to pull him towards the door and he starts that way with her when the maitre d' stops them before they can leave. "Hold on one moment, sir," he calls out. "Was that Hawthorne _with an E_?" Gale nods and the man smirks knowingly. Gale can't help the small smile he offers in return. "We may have something for you."

The man beckons a waitress over and he whispers an explanation to her. The woman gasps excitedly and grins at Gale, which he hopes Madge doesn't notice. When he looks over at her in surprise, she just seems to be confused. So far, so good. The waitress then introduces herself and the maitre d' says good night before he lets the woman lead them out a side door on to a patio. But they don't stop there. The restaurant is situated at the edge of the ocean where their patio sits atop a rocky cliff above the water. The waitress leads them down some steps to a small clearing in the rocks at sea level, separate from the patio and the busy restaurant. There's a table with two chairs and three flickering candles lighting the little set-up. When she sees the table, Madge leans into Gale and asks, "What's all this?" like she's entirely dumbfounded by the whole thing. He supposes she should be. This is a not in Gale's usual style either.

"How is this for you, Mr. Hawthorne?" the waitress asks, standing by the table. Gale nods appreciatively and looks out over the water. "It's perfect. Thank you."

The waitress nods and helps them to their seats, handing them menus. Madge stares at Gale the entire time, completely amazed, he hopes. After the waitress is done listing off the chef's special and asks them if they want a few minutes, she leaves and Gale checks his watch. "Ah, just in time."

"What are you talking about?" Madge sighs, exasperated once more but not in the same way she was earlier. Now she's just confused and frustrated with not knowing what just happened. "Gale, what did you do?"

He taps his watch then looks out at the water where the sun is beginning to set. "It's ten after eight. The sun sets at 8:13 tonight. Just in time," he repeats. "And what do you mean, 'what did I do'?"

She narrows her eyes at him but he doesn't miss the pure joy behind them. "You orchestrated this entire thing, didn't you?" she asks like she already knows the answer. "You were late on purpose."

"Barry had a report for me," Gale shrugs, looking at the menu again. "I didn't do anything."

Madge stays quiet and when he glances up at her as she grabs her own menu, he hopes that contented little smile on her face never goes away.

He orders a local white wine and they toast to District 4 and its beauty ("And yours," he says in reference to Madge, which makes her blush). They sip it slowly as the sun goes down and order whatever the chef recommends. When their dinner comes, Madge shakes her head at him. "You know we didn't have to come here," she tells him. "I don't need you spending money on me like this or… trying to show off." She smirks and he rolls his eyes.

"I know, but I thought you deserved something special after I kept letting you down," he replies.

Madge sighs. "You didn't let me down. I just wanted to spend time with you. That's all I ever want."

His heart is so, so full with love for her and he doesn't think that all he's done tonight so far even shows it. Gale isn't one for grand gestures but he feels like he could write it in the sky and scream it from the mountain tops and he still couldn't show her how much he cares for her, loves her. It's the craziest thing because he was never meant to. He was supposed to marry Katniss and live a penniless life in the Seam until he died in the mines like his father. But here he is, in 4 with the mayor's daughter and more freedom than he ever could have imagined.

He's too emotional to speak up so he just reaches over and rests his hand over Madge's. Later the waitress comes by to collect their plates and another waiter follows close behind with another plate for them. "Dessert is served," he says, and places it down in front of Madge. She starts to explain that they didn't order dessert but both the wait staff are on their way and don't stop to hear her. Gale looks at her and the plate confusedly then tells her that she may as well try it. She's immediately suspicious but goes to lift the cover off anyway.

"I'm going to kill you, Gale Hawthorne," she threatens breathily as she comes face to face with a ring.

"Marry me first," he laughs after he's gotten out of his seat and crouched next to her. He takes the ring from the box off the plate and gets down on to one knee like his mother always said he should. "Marry me and spend the _rest of your life_ with me."

Madge really does look like she wants to kill him, but she takes his face in her hands and says, "Of course I'll marry you, you idiot." He grins at that and she kisses him quickly before she adds, "And you didn't need all this for me to say yes."

He slides the ring on to her finger and kisses her again, hardly believing that any of it even worked. Those late nights at the office where Madge sat at home waiting for him—it was all part of the plan. They were the only times she wouldn't be around and he was able to buy the ring or set up the event with the restaurant without her sneaking around his business. He tells her so and she groans (at his stupidity, surely) but shakes her head and admires the new ring sitting on her finger.

Gale can't help it and says, "So how's that for a promise?"

When Madge teases about being the one to break it this time because he got her so worked up, he thinks it's the best promise he's ever made—and one he intends to keep forever.


End file.
